Best Offers
by Simon920
Summary: Dick Grayson weighs his options for after high school, including some he hadn't expected.


Warnings: I veer from canon just a bit—not to worry, no big deal

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

**Best Offers**

"Hey Robin, do you have a minute?"

"Sure Commissioner—what is it?" Robin was just dropping off the final report he'd written up regarding that last capture he and Batman made of Two-face and was on his way out when Jim Gordon saw him walking down the hall.

"You decide to use GPD as your personal letter drop now?"

"Excuse me?"

"I have a pile of letters which have come in for you the last couple of weeks, I'd appreciate your taking them off my hands for me."

Fan mail? Please. Robin had a company that answered that stuff for him without him ever having to waste his time on it. It was all the same and generally fell into three categories:

some kid wanted him to show up for his seventh birthday party,

some fangirl wanted to know if he had a girl friend and usually included a picture (often soft porn), her phone number or the date of her prom

or some middle aged or old lady wanted to mother him, thought he was too thin and often sent him cookies and an invitation to come over for a good hot meal.

No thanks.

He took the pile of maybe ten or so envelopes, both legal sized and padded 9 X 12, which felt like they had books in them and were all addressed to 'Robin c/o Gotham Police Department'. He glanced at the return addresses: Stanford University, Ohio State, UCLA, Michigan and a number of other well known colleges and universities, including the major military academies. Odd.

"So you're starting to look for schools, are you? I figured you'd be getting to that age right about now. So, those are all good ones, you'd do well to consider any of that group." Gordon had a look of almost parental pride on his face, which was kind of strange since he didn't even know Robin's real name or anything. God, like he didn't get enough of this at home.

"I didn't send for any of these."

Gordon looked slightly surprised—he'd been through this with Barbara and he knew the student usually made the first contact, not the other way around. Of course, no one ever said Robin was your typical teenager, either. "Well, open one of the letters and see why they're writing you, then." Like both of them didn't know what this was about—it was pretty obvious, right?

Robin tore open the one from Stanford sitting on top of the pile; a legal sized one with just a single page letter inside. He skimmed it to himself then handed it to the Commissioner:

"_Dear Robin, _

_I hope you don't mind my taking the initiative in writing to you, but I recently had the opportunity of becoming acquainted with your exceptional gymnastics talent. This, coupled with the footage I've seen of your obvious abilities, have led me to extend to you this invitation to meet with me, tour the Stanford campus and train with the men's gymnastics team for a few days. _

_You would have the opportunity to stay in the dorms with the team Captain, attend classes and get to know the young men whom I currently work with. I would, naturally, like to discuss the possibility of your attending the University once you've completed high school, dependant of course, on your grades and test scores. However, I've seen and been impressed by your obvious intelligence, self –possession and maturity in numerous interviews. I feel strongly that not only would you be an asset to our program, but that—as one of the most highly respected schools in the world— we may well have whatever you might be looking for in higher education._

_I am proud to say that our Gymnastics Program is arguably the leader in the United States, supplying a fair percentage of our country's national, world and Olympic team members while maintaining the highest possible standards, coupled with the rigorous academic expectations for which Stanford is world renown._

_We have a large number of both full and partial scholarships available and your visit to our main campus in Palo Alto would be at our expense. Please let me know when you may be available to come to the West Coast so that I might arrange your travel schedule._

_I look forward to meeting with you personally to discuss the possibility of your joining us to further both your athletic and academic pursuits._

_Sincerely, _

_Jim Schultz_

_Head of Gymnastics_

_Stanford University"_

Stanford was recruiting him and they wanted him for their gymnastics team. Fine, whatever and most of the letter was just blowing smoke, but there you go.

He saw the look on Gordon's face and decided to set him straight about this. "First of all, I'm still a high school junior and not ready to really think about this quite yet and secondly, I don't want to compete in gymnastics. On top of that, my life is pretty centered on the East Coast and that's working for me. Besides, all they really want, what all of these schools really want is to cash in on my visibility and ready-made PR value. Plus I have less than no need for a pile of medals or trophies to toss in a closet. No thanks, I'll pass."

He didn't want to be used and that's all this was. Even if he did want to compete, which he didn't, he sure as hell wouldn't do it as Robin—he'd had enough publicity to satisfy anyone and he knew better than most what this would mean on a day to day basis. He'd be followed around whatever campus he landed on. He'd have to give an endless series of interviews to everyone from the school newspaper to the New York Times Sports Section. He'd be expected to deal with camera crews at workouts and meets and probably have to live with the resentment of the other team members who went about their lives without all the bells and whistles that were part of his life. Oh, and let's not forget about the reality of having to spend four or five hours a day in the gym. Sure he worked out, but enough was enough.

"Besides, at this point I not sure I even want to go to college and if I do, this isn't the way it's going to be."

"But still, that's quite a compliment to you, son. You should be proud of yourself and I'll bet Batman will be bursting his buttons when he gets a look at these." Gordon was smiling at him with that proud look again. Robin gave him a wan smile in return, not wanting to hurt the man's feelings and knowing it wasn't meant the way he was taking it.

"Thanks for holding these for me but I've got to get home now. We'll call you if anything happens with that case, okay?"

"You get home safe, son and let me know which one of those schools interests you, will you? And you know, I bet if you think it over the next few weeks and really give these schools a chance you'll see things a little differently." He put his hand on Robin's shoulder, squeezing slightly. "And you know I'd be proud to write you an recommendation any time you want."

He nodded, smiled and left. God, this was a nightmare. Later, up in his room he read through the rest of the letters and packages. They all said basically the same thing and about half had included a copy of the school catalog along with the application forms. He'd made sure that no one else in the house had seen them, stuffed into his school backpack, but it was just a matter of time before either Bruce or Alfred clued in. What a mess…well, he'd just tell them the truth, that he wasn't sure about this and he would like to just chill about the whole thing for a few months and no, he didn't want to arrange a trip to anywhere to tour any campuses. Not yet, anyway.

He put the letters in the bottom drawer of his desk and mostly forgot about them, or tried to, anyway. Things would probably have ended there if Alfred hadn't decided to clean out his bureau, looking for outgrown clothing for the local church drive for the poor. There, under the old tee shirts and outgrown jeans, were the letters and catalogs.

* * *

"Master Bruce, forgive me, but I think you might like to be made aware of these." 

Bruce looked up from the Wall Street Journal, taking the pile of letters and glancing through them quickly. "I don't understand—these are dated over two months ago, where were they?"

"Hidden under some old clothes in a bottom drawer. I hasten to assure you that I have no interest in violating the young master's privacy but I thought that you might want to be informed about these."

"Where is he?"

"I believe he said he'd be at a Titan's meeting this evening until about ten or so."

Bruce glanced at his watch; it was about a quarter of. "Please see that he knows I wish to speak to him when he gets back."

"Very good, sir." Alfred left, headed back to the kitchen and worried that he may well have done the wrong thing just now. Master Dick would be furious to know a secret he'd been keeping was exposed and he knew that the youngster would place the blame squarely on his shoulders.

Two hours later Dick got the message from Alfred that the Master wished to speak with him and could be found 'downstairs'.

"Bruce? What's up?"

"…Not much, just wondered how the meeting went."

This wasn't what Dick had been expecting. Okay, he didn't really know what was coming, but this definitely wasn't what he would have placed a bet on. "Uh, yeah, fine. Garth's back for a while—you might want to have the JLA keep an eye on Arthur and Roy is still clean. Was there anything else?"

"No, just checking in. I went out a little while ago but everything's quiet; you might as well call it a night." Bruce turned back to his keyboard and the DNA he was analyzing for that serial killer they'd been hunting.

"You want any help with that?"

"I'm good. You can turn in if you want."

This was not normal, not even close. "You mind if I work out for a while or will that disturb you?"

Bruce didn't even look up. "It's fine, go ahead."

Dick nodded, slightly confused but went through to the adjacent area and the gym equipment, stripping off his shirt and shoes and started his usual warm up to music.

Around two, with Dick in bed almost an hour before, Bruce closed the clock behind him in the study, ready for some down time of his own. Maybe Proust would be a good companion this evening.

"Forgive me my prying, sir, but I must ask what the young master said about those letters. Is he intending on pursuing any of the offers made to him?"

Bruce looked up from his book, a first edition his father had purchased decades before. "I didn't ask him."

"Sir?"

"He'll do what he wants, Alfred. I trust him to know his own mind in this—if he wants to discuss it he will, until then I'll let him think it through on his own."

"But I thought…"

"Yes?"

"I thought that you wished to ask him about why he kept them hidden, whether he'd responded to any of them and whether he had any plans to take advantage of any of the offers that were made to him."

Bruce put the book in his lap. It really was a heavy thing and uncomfortable to hold. "It has to be his choice, Alfred. I can't force him to do anything he doesn't want—so long as it's not hurting him, he has to make his own decisions. If he wants us to know about this, he'll tell us." He paused, waiting for Alfred to say something then went on. "He's not a child, he's always seemed to know what he's wanted for himself—I don't see this as anything different. Besides, I can't see him going to any school as Robin. You know he values his private time too much for something like that."

"…Quite." How very out of character, thought Alfred, and of course Master Dick was still a child. He might lead an extraordinary life and done things almost no one his age—or any age for that matter had done, but he was still most definitely a child needing guidance and input from his elders.

"You disagree, Alfred?"

"I think, if you'll forgive me, sir, that he would value your opinion."

"If he wants it, he'll ask. Now if there's nothing else…?" Taking the hint, Alfred left the room.

* * *

Dick knew that Alfred had found the catalogues and letters from the schools. When he went to look through the one from Michigan again he saw that they were in a different order than he'd left them and that the clothes on top of them were disturbed. He also knew it was Alfred instead of Bruce since Bruce had never, as far as he knew, ever gone through anything in his room. That was four days ago and he was waiting for the shoe to drop…and waiting. 

The four days became a week and still nothing. Not a word, not a look. Not a hint that anyone knew about the things other than him. It was almost to the point where Dick wondered if he might be wrong and imagined the clues but he knew better. Someone had been in his drawer and he knew it was someone other than himself.

Finally the weeks became months and then it was fall again and he was a senior in high school and seriously starting to have to deal with what he'd be doing after this school year. And still no one had mentioned anything about the letters and catalogues. It was as if they didn't exist. Dick hadn't contacted any of the schools, though several had sent him follow-up letters, which he'd also hidden up in his before anyone else could see them.

If the Commissioner ever said anything to Batman about them, it never got back to Dick. It was kinda weird but he was grateful for small favors.

* * *

Spring rolled around and with it his birthday. He was eighteen, legally no longer a minor and at the tail end of his senior year. 

"So, Robbie—you have it figured out yet?"

"What?"

"What you're going to do with the rest of your life now that you're officially an adult—where are you going to school next year, dude?"

Friday night at the tower, he was hanging with Wally for a few minutes after a meeting. Everyone else had gone home. "'Don't know yet."

"What does Bruce say?"

"Nothing, he hasn't brought it up at all."

Wally gave him an odd look. "The Bat is chilling? No way."

Robin shrugged. "He does, sometimes."

Kid Flash laughed out loud. "Yeah, right, sure he does; I'll have to tell Uncle Barry about this, he'll get a laugh out of it. Look, gotta go—later."

Dick changed into his street clothes and rode his new Ninja back to the manor, letting himself in the kitchen door, against Alfred's edict that 'family' should only use the main entrances. It was close to midnight and he was tired; bed would feel good.

In fact he'd been wondering about this for a while now. Obviously if this was important to him, Bruce would have said something before this. He would have the guidance department at school on it or maybe assigned Lucius to research some appropriate schools but…nothing.

Dick had turned it over and over in his mind, thought about it and worried until he'd hit the answer a couple of months ago.

Of course. He'd turned eighteen last March. He was no longer a minor. Bruce's obligation was over and he was just letting him run out the last few months to finish high school and tie up loose ends.

And that was fine, that made sense, in fact it was obvious now that he really thought about it.

Bruce didn't say or ask anything about his plans because Dick was no longer his problem. Ten years was long enough to take care of a stray and Dick understood this. Maybe this wasn't the way he'd seen it in his dreams but it was fine. He could deal with this. He'd be fine.

Besides, whatever. He was still Robin. He was still one of the best detectives on the planet. He could always just branch out on his own, really do a lot more with the character. He'd wanted to do more for a long time, make a real mark in the world and do some really major good. That's what he'd been training for all these years anyway, right? Of course it was. This was cool. It was.

He'd finish high school, get out on his own and do the work he'd been preparing for since he was nine years old.

"Dick? You about ready to go out?"

He looked up from where he was sitting on the edge of his bed, startled to find Bruce standing there in costume, ready to start patrol.

"Yeah, sure, two minutes."

"Joker's out and the rumor on the street is that he's armed now."

"Armed? More than usual?" Dick had his shirt off and his shoes and socks on the floor.

"He's been buying guns on the black market and the word is that he's targeted you as his first payback."

Dick made a face. "Sure he has—it doesn't matter. He's been threatening for years, this is just more of the same."

Bruce turned to leave. "I want you to stay here."

"No."

"Dick…"

"No. What, you're trying to tell me I'll get hurt? C'mon, we've been going up against him since I only came up to your armpit—you never minded before." He smiled that big smile of his, a little forced, but it was there. "That's half the fun, remember?" He was in his costume, mask in place. "And Joker is always a kick to deal with—he's just so nuts, y'know? Let's go."

"I want you to stay out of this tonight and I mean it. Get out of your gear and do some homework or read a book but you're not coming with me."

This was a first and not something Dick liked at all. He wasn't a ten-year-old and if he wanted to help he was damn well going to…

"Don't even think about it."

"Bruce…"

"No." Three minutes later the Batmobile peeled out of the cave, no one in the passenger seat.

At eleven-thirty Batman was confronting the Joker on top of a roof in the city, the criminal raised a gun he'd hidden in his costume and aimed at the Batman. He'd been hoping for the brat but if Dad was out alone this evening, he'd do… intent on finally ridding himself of the pain in the ass do-gooder, only to be surprised by a sudden movement to his right. Turning instinctively, he fired, shooting Robin through the shoulder and escaping in the shock of the moment.

"Robin!"

* * *

"No more. That's it, no more. Robin stays dead as far as the world is concerned." 

"You _can't_ do that—_I'm_ Robin. This isn't your choice."

"Robin stays dead. Robin is my creation. I own him. You want to continue, you do it as someone else and on your own dime."

"…Fine. You want Robin to stay dead that's okay with me. But you trained me too well, made me what I am. You can't stop me…"

3/18/07

11


End file.
